Mariah unlocked the front door of Cass’s Victorian mansion and the chosen ones spilled inside. Electric candle sconces flickered on in the foyer as they entered. Lights that lit themselves were just one more horror to add to this thriller film Sam had fallen into.

Shaken by Daisy’s ridiculous proclamation that there was a murderer on the loose and she might die, Sam threw a longing look toward her guest cottage, but she would never sleep now.

Walker had abandoned her to the Lucys, saying he had to guard the gravesite or one of the lunatics would be digging around, looking for more bones. She feared he was right. The people who hadn’t come with the chosen thirteen had quickly departed for their cars and bicycles, and at least half of them had headed up the hill. She didn’t envy him his job.

Not that she envied her position either. Mariah patted her on the shoulder, then led the others past two enormous dark parlors into a dining room decorated in gold 70’s flocked wallpaper and hung with a crystal chandelier. Sam appreciated that the chandelier didn’t light automagically as they entered, but several sconces on the wall did. She’d watched this time but hadn’t seen anyone flip a switch. Motion detectors, perhaps? The room was too dim to watch everyone at once.

No draperies adorned the floor-to-ceiling windows, but the fog pushing against the glass was curtain enough. Sam could make out a variety of paintings along the wall, but couldn’t discern their subjects. Oddly, some seemed to be frames with no art, and there were blank places where it looked as if pieces had once hung. But the shadows prevented closer inspection.

Mariah pressed Sam down in a chair at the head of a long table while the others flitted about, seeking positions between her and Tullah, who took the other end.

Did feeling weird mean that this might be the weirdest moment of her life?

“Join hands,” Tullah ordered in the same perfectly matter-of-fact voice she’d used when telling Sam to wear the sprigged skirt. “It’s late, and our guest is tired, so let’s keep this quick and focused.”

The marmalade cat leaped to Sam’s lap, then climbed to the table. She curled up in the center. Mariah had said the cat had escape hatches. Good thing, if so, because Sam sure hadn’t been around much to look after her.

Mariah held her right hand. Susan, a grandmotherly woman with a cheerful smile and a head full of curls, took Sam’s left.

The lights went out. Since everyone was at the table, holding hands, there had to be a switch in the floor. Sam had a feeling this wasn’t the first time the ladies had held a séance here.

“Spirit of the vortex, speak,” Tullah commanded in a low, reassuring tone. “Tell us who you are.”

Sam felt ridiculous. She concentrated on the warmth of the two hands she held. That the hands of strangers held comfort worried her a little. Had she been a lonely student? Had she had lovers?

“He is here,” Susan said suddenly. Her hand now felt cool and moist. “He senses our guest.”

Well now there was a great opening for a scam. Excite the newcomer, get her invested in the outcome, then start making demands. How did she know this? Or was that just scientific skepticism?

“Name yourself, spirit,” Tullah inserted into the following silence.

The cat stretched and walked down the table to one of the women to whom Sam hadn’t been introduced. Buxom, with graying auburn hair, she wore tangles of gold and garnet beads. Emma batted her head against the woman’s chin.

“He’s not clear,” the beaded lady said in a low contralto. “He’s been gone too long.”

A rustle of disappointment whispered around the room. Sam felt Susan’s palm grow clammier. Mariah squeezed her other hand as if to reassure.

“Evil,” Tullah said in a guttural tone unlike her own. “He speaks of evil.”

“Tullah has a spirit guide,” Mariah whispered in explanation.

“Evil must be cleansed,” the spirit guide said.

“How?” Mariah asked.

Startled by this sensible question to an insensible speech, Sam almost released her grip. Both Mariah and Susan tightened theirs. An almost visible ripple of excitement circled the table.

“Fire and serpents,” the guttural voice responded sadly. “Fire cleanses.” A hesitation, followed by a sharper, less dolorous tone—“Tell his son to beware.”

The sconces abruptly flickered back on, and the women dropped Sam’s hands. Susan surreptitiously wiped hers on her skirt, and Mariah frowned.

“Well, that wasn’t helpful,” Valdis said in disdain. “We really need Cass. She can translate even the most reluctant spirit.”

“That was more than enough for me.” Deciding a master of environmental science would be firm and decisive in the face of lunacy, Sam stood and scooped up Emma. “Even I know that fire up here would be more devastating than cleansing.”

“We’ll have to wait for police to learn the spirit’s identity before we can find and warn his son,” Mariah said worriedly. “Tullah, are you all right?”

The thrift store owner raised her palm. “Nothing a good whisky won’t help. See our guest home. We already know that evil walks our town, and we need to look out for each other.”

Holding a purring Emma, Sam didn’t feel the fear she was probably supposed to feel. “If evil is real, then there are plenty of other places in this world that need to be burned,” she said as they walked past flickering sconces to the front door. “I thought serpents were supposed to be evil.”

“And I thought the devil thrived on fire,” Mariah agreed cheerfully. “Séances are seldom useful. And Val is right, Cass’s are better, but I’m pretty sure she adds her own spin to the spirit’s words.”

Relieved that she wasn’t the only skeptic, Sam set Emma down when they reached the door at the top of the stairs to the studio. She rummaged in her purse and retrieved the ring with her car keys and an unidentified locker-type key, along with the studio key she’d added to it. Hiding keys under geranium pots negated the purpose of a lock in her opinion. Emma sniffed at the flowers on the tiny balcony as Sam unlocked the door. “Do you have a ride home? It seems a little ridiculous to walk each other back and forth.”

“I know these paths better than evil does,” Mariah said with a chuckle. “There’s a shortcut by the rose bed, leads past my place and into town. Safer than walking the road.”

“I’ll watch from up here.” Sam gestured at the stucco wall above the roses. “Holler if you meet evil.”

“I’ll blink my front door light when I’m home. That’s what I do for Cass.”

Sam was doubtful that she could see much through the rising fog, but a wind kept it to wispy drifts. She waited until she saw the light blink down the hill, then reached inside and flicked the front door light switch.

“Come along, Emma. Did you eat everything I left you? Do you need more? I wish this Cass person had left care instructions.”

The studio seemed like a quiet, sensible safe haven as Sam entered, flipping on normal lights. She pushed boxes up against the wall to clear floor space. Had she left those books out? Scooping them up, she deposited them in a partially empty box.

It wasn’t until she entered the bed area behind the blanket and saw her interview suit crumpled on the floor that she realized someone had violated her space.

The last time Walker had taken time off had been for the hospital and funeral. That had been over a year ago. But officially, today was his day off, and this time, he was taking it. He showered and shaved at the lodge. He kept his very own Superman stash in an employee locker so he had jeans and a flannel shirt. He actually grinned when he took out his wrinkled clothes, remembering the newcomer’s sardonic comment from the night before.

He hadn’t felt like smiling in a very long time. He would never smile again if he allowed another flaky female under his skin. So he needed to steer clear of Sam if she was a Lucy. The jury was still out on that.

He’d diverted the crazies from the crime scene by warning them that he’d seen a cougar and her cubs prowling the grave site. So he’d managed a decent night’s sleep and was now prepared to be entertained hearing about the séance.

The people who knew him waved as he entered the café. The tourists didn’t look up from devouring Dinah’s scrumptious breakfast. The food almost made up for not having cell service. If he’d wanted a setting out of time and place to recover, this was a good one.

Samantha glanced up from filling a coffee cup and smiled, but dark shadows still circled her sad eyes. The therapist had told him he had a strong need to protect derived from his teen years of being his abandoned mother’s crutch. He was trying hard not to go looking for the helpless and needy anymore, but damned if he could avoid those big blue eyes sparkling like sapphire crystals when she glanced at him.

He took a stool at the counter and nodded at the coffee pot she lifted in his direction. This morning she’d tied her hair back and covered it with a ridiculous ball cap with Dinah’s written above the bill. The orange didn’t clash with her blue denim shirt, but it stood out.

“Did the spirits talk?” he asked after inhaling the first half of his caffeine.

“I think the consensus was that we should burn evil or maybe just the serpents. Does this mean we should burn the person who ransacked the studio last night?” She kept her voice low enough that only he could hear.

He froze in mid-sip, then lowered the cup. “Anything taken?”

“I don’t have anything worth taking. Someone just wanted to know who I was.” Her whisper was almost accusatory.

“Not me. I can look you up in a database anytime I need to. Do you want me to take a look around? Help change the locks?”

“I’m a guest. I can’t change locks. But thanks for asking.” She plastered on a big smile and spoke more loudly. “Pie or do you want something more healthy?” Her voice wasn’t precisely sultry, but the practical question held a pleasant musical note that was better than her earlier fear.

He played along. There wasn’t much he could do about a B&E with no damage. It cost money to run fingerprints and the county didn’t have much. “I’m off duty. I have time for healthy. I trust the Lucys don’t mean to burn down the lodge to stomp out evil?”

She refilled cups up and down the counter while she talked. “They consider the lodge evil?”

“Vile interloper polluting the environment,” he answered solemnly.

“Money is the root of all evil,” Harvey added, sliding onto the empty stool beside him. “Greed corrupts.”

“Tourists put food on the table,” Dinah said, emerging from the kitchen to slap an enormous omelet in front of Walker. “Don’t condemn what you ain’t got. Poached for you?” She glanced at Harvey.

“As always, dear, with a bottle of your devil sauce,” he shouted after her as she strode back to the kitchen.

“Evil.” Walker pointed at Harvey.

“Go f. . .” Harvey grimaced and watched Sam smiling, chatting, and pouring juice for a child. “Where the hell did she come from? Do you know?”

“Utah.” Walker bit into his heavenly omelet and ignored Harvey’s frustration. Swearing did seem inappropriate around the ethereal Miss Moon.

“Salt Lake City is about the only excuse for that air of angelic innocence. Botticelli would have loved her. Hey, Sam, could I have some of that juice?”

Sam picked up an empty glass and set it in front of Harvey. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. Did I see you playing a guitar last night?”

“He’s a wandering minstrel,” Walker told her. “Sam, meet Harvey the Loafer. Harvey, this is Samantha the Moon Goddess.”

“Someone got up feeling perky this morning.” She filled Harvey’s glass, then refilled Walker’s cup with the coffee carafe in her other hand.

“I get to go into Baskerville today, restock my kitchen, and do the laundry,” Walker explained. “Fun day ahead. Can I get you anything while I’m down there?”

He watched her brow furrow and a cloud of uncertainty cross her face. The woman had secrets. He intended to spend a little of his time ferreting them out. He figured the missing persons file would be on his desk, but he already knew what he’d find in that, and it wasn’t Sam.

“Nothing that I know of,” she replied, before hurrying off to take someone’s money at the cash register.

“Look for Cass,” Harvey said urgently, just as Dinah appeared with his egg.

Dinah set the plate down and looked as grim as her perpetually cheerful red lips could manage. “Cass is in trouble,” she agreed. “Look where Sam was last.”

Well, hell, so much for his day off.